Fire in the Sky Episode Addition: How Things Burn
by Jaclyn
Summary: Roxton shared a painful memory with Marguerite; I figured it was only fair for her to reciprocate....inspired by the lyrics to "Bird in a Gilded Cage," which Marguerite sang in this ep.


**Fire in the Sky Episode Addition:   
How Things Burn**  
  
By Jaclyn  
  
_(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)_  
  


Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?!  
  
Spoiler warning: Sort of general spoilers for the first M/R scene in this ep....in which Marguerite sang the song below, by the way....but no spoilers for the main "action" plot.  
  
Special thanks to Pam for betaing and for, ahem, "noticing the title in the story."  
  
  
**  
  
  
She's only a bird in a gilded cage  
A beautiful sight to see.  
You would think she was happy  
And free from care.  
She's not, though she seems to be.  
It's sad when you think of her wasted life,  
For Youth cannot mate with Age.  
And her beauty was sold  
For an old man's gold.  
She's a bird in a gilded cage.   
  
(Thank you, http://ingeb.org/songs/shesonly.html, which also has the melody in MIDI form, by the way.)  
  
  
**  
  
  
Later, he would wish he could say it was a sixth sense that roused him, but in actuality, it was only the unusual chill.  
  
Groaning, John Roxton rolled off the bed and groped for his shirt, intending to shrug it on and go find himself a stiff drink. Whatever the cause, he was glad he'd been awakened. Experiencing his brother's death again, even in a dream, wasn't high on his list of priorities.  
  
He trudged into the kitchen, then stopped dead.  
  
Marguerite was there, toasting her hands a few inches above the stove. She was singing "Bird in a Gilded Cage" to herself, except this time she included the lyrics that she wouldn't sing earlier that day in front of him.   
  
"....You would think she was happy, and free from care," Marguerite sang, her voice high and clear, but soft, out of consideration for the sleeping occupants of the treehouse. When she arrived at the next line, her tone darkened, and Roxton could see her body became even more rigid. "She's not, though she seems to be. It's sad when you think of her wasted life--"  
  
Shocked and anguished by the bitterness and hurt in her voice, Roxton took a step back....and promptly crashed into the wall behind him.   
  
Marguerite whirled around.  
  
"Hi," Roxton said sheepishly.   
  
She stared at him, raising an eyebrow: _Why were you spying on me?_  
  
"I, um, came to get a drink." Recovering, he added with a sly smile, "The excellent company is just an unexpected bonus."  
  
"I see," she said tonelessly, not in the mood to argue. Reluctantly, she left the warmth of the stove and pulled out a chair from around the kitchen table. Marguerite plopped down and waved a hand to the one next to her. "So, join me. Why not?"  
  
He did, then stared at her hard. It was too late at night for subterfuge, and they'd been through enough that day. Would it really be so bad to be blunt, just this once? "Marguerite," Roxton said steadily. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," was her knee-jerk response. "Oh, well, I'm a little cold actually. But that's to be expected. Horrible weather we're having!"  
  
"You know," Roxton said slowly, reaching over to cover her chilled hand with his bigger, warmer one. "I shared something very personal and very painfu--"  
  
"What, you think this is a game? We should trade pain? I'll rub your wound; you rub mine?!" Marguerite exploded, eyes wide at his audacity and insensitivity. _Fine, if he's going to drop pretenses, I'm not going to censor my anger EITHER!_  
  
"Marguerite! You know that's not what I meant!"  
  
"What else could you mean?" she shot back.  
  
"Would you stop being so defensive and LISTEN to me for a minute?" he demanded, resisting the urge to throw his hands up in the air. So much for the blunt approach! Exhaustion must have dulled his senses....  
  
She glared at him sullenly. "Fine, sure, why not; nothing better to listen to on this _bloody_ plateau _ANYWAY!_"  
  
"Thank you. Now...." Roxton brought his tone down a notch or two until the firm calm didn't sound forced or annoyed, but actually soothing. "I was going to say that I trusted you today. I trusted you with something very....something that I usually keep very close to me, and don't share the details of, let alone the emotion. But I....Marguerite, there's something about you....the fact that it was _you_ listening made it not as hard to say. And I trusted in you; you have no idea how much, because if you had reacted badly or made me feel like a fool....but I knew you wouldn't. I knew you'd give me nothing but support and compassion....because I've known you for a long time, Marguerite, and I know there's a _lot_ more to you than you'd like us to believe....you're not cold at all; you're the easiest to hurt of all of us, aren't you? You're just also the best at hiding it, so for a time, I didn't kn--"  
  
"John," Marguerite choked out, and for one crazy moment Roxton thought someone must be strangling her in the dark. He tore his gaze from her luminous eyes, but there was nothing at her throat but pale skin. "I thought your little speech was supposed to be about _you_."  
  
Marguerite's whole body was trembling; Roxton had struck a nerve. Her limbs filled with that weak, tingley feeling that made it seem hard to support herself, and her head felt too heavy on her neck, like it would just snap off and roll away....  
  
"It was supposed to be about _us_," he corrected. She turned her face away, but he could tell from the way the moonlight glinted off her cheek that she was crying. Roxton sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment to give himself a brief respite from the hurt on her face. "I'm sorry, Marguerite. I didn't mean to upset you further. But it helped me to talk about it and not be belittled, so I thought maybe it would help you too....I didn't mean that this was just a petty trade, that if I fill in the details about a painful incident you have to also....I just wanted you to know....you can trust me...." his voice trailed off. She'd rested her temple against her hand, her elbow on the table, seemingly putting herself even farther from him. Her hair swept down over her cheek and arm like a silken Iron Curtain, physically flimsy but no less dangerous.  
  
"Okay," Roxton said quietly. "I can take a hint. But....I'll be in my room if you....I don't mind if the hour's a little odd....oh, Marguerite, why do you...." he shook his head, giving up -- for tonight at least -- and stood up heavily. His chair groaned against the slightly warped floorboards.  
  
Marguerite's body jerked, her head flying up. "No, Roxton, no!" she nearly shouted. Roxton watched in strange fascination as her slender neck whipped out of the curve it had been in a moment before. Her hair swirled, resettling around her face to reveal the tears streaming out of her reddened, bloodshot eyes, which no longer took refuge by staring at the tabletop. Her nose sported a pinkish tint, offset by her flushed cheeks. And her lips....those lips he'd dreamed about from almost the very moment he met her....they quivered as she cried, and now he watched as they shaped his name over and over, like a mantra, or a plea.  
  
"John, John, John...." she sobbed. Her fists clenched on the worn surface of the table. It was hard for her to let him see her cry, but in some twisted way that she didn't really understand, it was all she wanted from the world tonight. "Don't leeeeave," she wailed. "Wait for me!"  
  
_Wait for me_, John repeated in his head. _I wonder if she intended for me to read into that?  
  
Or is she too upset at the moment to have any ulterior motives at all? Maybe she's just saying whatever she feels....  
  
"Wait for me!"_  
  
John sat back down. "I'll always wait for you. Don't you know that?"  
  
"He hurt meeee," she moaned. "He was supposed to make me the happiest woman in England, and he nearly killed me with what he would say....!"  
  
Roxton stood up again and went to kneel at her side. He rubbed at her knee comfortingly, and suggested softly, "Why don't we go sit on the couch, talk there?"  
  
Marguerite felt the very last of her resolve dissolving, lost like breadcrumbs on the wind. She'd sworn to herself long ago that no one would know of her pain ever again, because telling people what hurt you only gave them ammunition to hurt you even more. But now....John was just so radically _different_ that it couldn't be wrong to tell him, it _couldn't_....  
  
Marguerite wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and let him carry her to the couch. It was there, huddled on his lap, that she finally spilled out the story of her first marriage: how she'd been so young and needy then, so desperately seeking a protector -- someone who would not only give his life for her, but someone who would do so because he felt a connection to her that could only mean one thing....he was _in love_. With _her!_ And James had been so suave and handsome and strong....he used to place his hand on the small of her back and lead her where he wanted her to go; at the time, she'd believed it sweetly possessive in an affectionate way.  
  
Only later did she realize he viewed her as no more than a bit of property. She was so blind then, so desperate....!  
  
And once he'd secured her fortune for himself, in a wedding so white and glittering that Marguerite went home with a headache -- foreshadowing, yes, but did she allow herself to look at it that way? She was so tightly coiled inside that she only acknowledged positive thoughts....everything else was released in her dreams....oh, the intense nightmares she'd had that night, as she tossed, fitfully asleep, on the bed she now shared with her new husband. She was all of twenty-two, and in a few years he'd be double her age. He was calculating and cold, but he was also a magnificent actor. Marguerite had been willing prey.  
  
Oh yes, and once he'd secured her fortune, the glowing dream she'd been living in -- in which he loved her -- popped like the fragile bubble it was. Iradescent shards of color everywhere....Marguerite in shreds....the wedding ring drew blood, but he didn't notice, not even when it bled through the bandages and into the plush furniture....not even when it smeared on his skin the first time he'd sent her sprawling....  
  
"No!" Roxton grunted without even realizing it, hugging her tighter to him.  
  
"Oh _yes_," she assured him between sobs that left her gasping. This was the first time she'd told anyone this story, not even Adrienne had known. "He was a monster. But a powerful monster, and he wouldn't grant me a divorce....and why would the courts listen to little me when _he_ offered to make that filthy judge rich, providing he didn't? _My_ money, it was, and other than my locket, that was my only connection to my parents....and he used it to keep me trapped...."  
  
"You are so strong," he murmured in admiration, rubbing at her moist cheek with his thumb, as much for his own comfort as for hers.  
  
"How can you say that?" she exclaimed. "Look at me -- I'm a wreck!"  
  
"But you survived," he reminded her softly. "You stayed alive. And now I've found you, and if you'll let me, I'll protect you the way you deserve to be protected...." He wanted to say _love_, but he was afraid it was too much to heap on her at once. Marguerite was already an emotional mess at the moment; no need to make it worse by introducing some more new, confusing emotions....  
  
Marguerite swallowed hard. The last remaining tear slowly dripped its languid path down her cheek, marking the end of her hours of crying. She still shook with the remembered force of her sobs, but with Roxton supporting her limp body, who really cared anyway....  
  
"I'd like that," she whispered, her lips barely moving and her voice so low that Roxton would have doubted he'd heard it, had he not seen the flicker of fear that the words brought out in her eyes.  
  
"I won't betray you," Roxton vowed. "I swear it."  
  
Marguerite graced him with a watery smile. "I think I knew that all along....or I never would have agreed to....this...."  
  
He breathed her name again, delighting in the elegant sound and in the way her face softened when she heard the love in his voice, though both of them knew this wasn't the time to articulate it in words.  
  
But....  
  
"Please," Marguerite said simply, and Roxton bent his head and kissed her.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Tell me how you got away," Roxton said.  
  
"I _ran_ away...."  
  
With only the clothes on her back and the locket fastened around her neck, Marguerite had snuck out of her husband's clutches. She had 10 £ in her pocket, and with it she somehow managed to get herself to Paris, France, where she eventually met Adrienne and became embroiled in the jewel "business." Once she'd rebuilt her fortune -- totally from scratch, no easy or quick task -- she'd paid a prominent French lawyer to travel to London and set things straight.  
  
Except, the attorney had reported back, that required her presence in the English courts, and Marguerite was, quite frankly, terrified of revealing her whereabouts to her husband. So she'd called the lawyer back and instead paid a forger a hefty sum to fake a convincing divorce certificate for her. She then arranged for a copy to be "placed" in the British archives by a spy who owed her a favor. And that was that. To the British government, Marguerite Krux was a divorced woman....and the records of the proceedings? They were, ah, lost in an unfortunate fire.  
  
Such a tragedy, how these things burn.  
  
  
**  
  
  
_Fin_  
  
  
Feedback is much appreciated!  
  



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